As an aspie, I often feel like John from the Watchmen.
Unlike the average bear, which are born with communication instincts, I have to constantly learn things, like how to change your voice when you're happy, and how to shriek when scared.
The people in my life often don't know how I'm feeling.
Except, my beloved bipolar husband. He knows how I'm feeling.
Yesterday, after I washed off the stove, swept the floor, washed the couch cushion covers and the throw blanket I didn't have time to finish the dishes. I took the girls to the carousel to allow him a breather from his full-time job as a Stay-At-Home-Dad.
That evening, while getting the girls down for bedtime, I did need him, but I avoided asking him for much.
After this fun, but exhausting day, he complains that the dishes he needs to cook with are dirty.
I felt terribly angry and unappreciated, so I called him "Mr. Complainy Pants." Anyone else would have thought that was cute and pretty much ignored it.
He knew though. He knew it was my extreme emotions popping out, so he apologized with donuts because he is the sweetest person I know.